


Still Child

by pumpkinpeasy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abused Dean, Abused Sam, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Come Marking, Crying, Dean is Nineteen Years Old, Domestic Violence, Forced, Forced Relationship, Forced sibling incest, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Incest Kink, John Being an Asshole, M/M, Masturbation, Not A Fix-It, Paralysis, Paralytics, Parent/Child Incest, Physical Abuse, Regret, Rimming, Sam is Fifteen Years Old, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Incest, angst and hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpeasy/pseuds/pumpkinpeasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein John is an abusive ass, and takes advantage of his authority over Dean, threatening a fifteen-year-old Sammy. Sam is regularly abused, forced into paralysis, for their father's enjoyment. John likes to watch his baby boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Child

Sam’s heart was violently kicking against his breastbone, his mind racing and thrumming, searching for a way out, but there was no way out. Goosebumps erupted all over his body, the cold air of the Kansas bungalow stabbing against his naked skin. He would have covered himself, would have done something to lessen his humiliation, if he could move a muscle. Dean was sitting in bed with him, or maybe it was the paralytics making him hallucinate, but he was also stripped of his clothes, which meant it was that time again.

Dean saw Sam’s unfixed hazel eyes staring blankly into space and time, but shining with unshed tears, as he was laid open on the bed for their father’s enjoyment. Dean looked up, saw John sitting in his usual place; a chair, placed conveniently beside the bed, as he watched the two of the wait for his word. The small, delicate and pale body of a fifteen-year-old Sammy had been through this more times than anyone would say, alike Dean’s older, rougher one.  
  
John sighed, watching the two of them on the bed, until he gave the word. “Alright, Dean…” came his gravely, intimidating voice, as he started unbuckling his jeans. “Let’s go, just like last time.”  
  
Dean lowered his head in shame, as he carefully crawled atop Sammy, who was open to anything their father had in mind, today. With trembling fingers, he gently lifted Sam’s legs into a bend at the knee, feeling the soft, slender limbs move like a ragdoll’s. Tears slipped from his eyes carelessly, as he sucked on his fingers and wetted them for what had to come next. Out of the corner of his eye, John was already touching himself, reclined in the chair, watching them almost disinterestedly. John was so close, Dean swore he could feel the alcohol-scented breath on the back of his naked shoulder. He eased the fingers from his mouth, and lowered them to the spot between Sammy’s legs.

He remembered several times back, when John had poured bleach onto his baby brother’s ass, to make his hole pink and tender. It had worked. If Dean was to go by the tears dripping freely from behind Sam’s lashes when he pushed his finger in, it had worked.  
  
“Hey-- Slower.” John ordered.  
  
Dean slowed down, letting his father watch as he gingerly worked open Sam’s hole, just trying to keep his own gaze fixed on anything-- Anything, else. Sam’s face, or his pale, milky tummy; even the nightstand, if he could get away with that. With his free hand, he was trying to get himself hard. It slid up and down, trying to make the touches as sensual as possible, so that he didn’t get beaten for not being turned on. Eventually, he had to look back down, past the limp, pink cock that laid softly against Sam’s thigh, past it, past that and down to where he’d shoved his fingers in. _“Just don’t let him see you cry.”_ rang through Dean’s mind. _“You know he hates it when you cry.”_  
  
“Get in there.” John said.  
  
“He’s not… He’s not open.” Dean sniveled quietly, still trying to force himself into hardness.  
  
“I didn’t ask you, boy, I said get in there.” he demanded gruffly, his hand still working his cock.  
  
And so he watched, as Dean trembled and pushed into Sammy’s unopened hole, and he watched as Sam didn’t move or make a sound, only let silent tears drip from behind his glassy, dull eyes. Those eyes that could barely see Dean, and thankfully didn’t see John, until his father grabbed him by the chin and turned his head to face him. Sam’s big, beautiful hazel orbs were forced to look at his dad, as Dean kept pushing in and stretching his small hole around his grown-up dick. It felt horrible, vile, as he made himself keep fucking into his baby brother’s helpless form, but he knew what John would do to Sammy if Dean didn’t obey his orders. He speared Sam onto his length, and started slow.

John stood over him, eyes boring into Sam’s face, the boy’s babyish lips parted and letting some drool drip down his chin. He was jacking himself off right in front of Sam’s face, hand working in time with Dean’s fucks in and out of his brother’s ass.  
  
_“I’m so sorry.”_ Dean thought, as if trying to communicate with Sammy, on some subconscious level. _“I’m so, so fucking sorry, baby. I love you so much… but he’ll hurt you worse than I ever could.”_  
  
Sam didn’t respond. He was still, his body only moving in the same rocking motion as his big brother. John suddenly reached down and ran his fingers over Sam’s cheek, making Dean gag on his tears. He tried not to look up, tried to focus on getting this done, finishing it for this time. The paralytics didn’t last forever, and they’d already run through nearly half an hour. Dean reached up, pretending to get a grip on Sam’s shoulder with one hand, so that the other could carefully run through his baby boy’s hair. It worked, always, to calm Sam down, and he hoped it would do the same here.

He wanted to throw up, for how it really felt. The tight, sensual clench of Sam’s muscles around him, and how he’d been able to retain an erection because of that. He knew, deep down, that he himself was just a horny teenager, and it made him sick. Dean didn’t dare to look down; he knew what he’d see. Blood splotching on his dick as he kept it up and working, the small tears inside Sammy bleeding onto him.  
  
“Harder, Dean.” John huffed, bracing himself against the wall with one hand, as he worked his cock furiously on Sam’s face.  
  
Dean sobbed quietly, shaking, as he kept fucking Sam harder and more forcefully, just to finish this and get his baby brother back. He watched as John spurted precum onto his son’s cheek, panting, jerking it out with vigorous sexual desire. The bed was creaking, the old springs digging into Dean’s knees as he braced himself and started rutting into Sam on a punishing pace. Dean was close. He was barely holding it together as his climax was finally building up, his hips’ punches becoming jagged and desperate, his breath coming in tiny grunts as he tried harder. He took hold of Sam’s hips and started thrusting with a frantic, do-or-die hopelessness, tears running down his cheeks blindly, burning his eyes and salty in his mouth.

John came first, throwing his head back in a groan, and gushing hot and sticky whiteness all over Sam’s face and hair, the thick semen dribbling through his brown locks. Dean finished a moment later, crying out softly, an anguished, disgusted thing that it was, as he poured himself into Sammy on his orgasm. His body betrayed him, as he shuddered and trembled, feeling a shot of pure pleasure forcing him to spill everything he had.  
  
He was shaking and sobbing violently into Sam’s stomach, hands shaping his baby boy’s bruised hips while stroking gently on his belly. His face was screwed up in tears, when he could finally muster up a single word.  
  
“Sammy…” he was sobbing as he pulled out and flung his arms around his baby brother. He wanted to say he was sorry, and he loved him, and he was just so, so sorry, but he was just holding him close and hoping their father wouldn’t ask any more.  
  
“Flip him over.” John breathed suddenly, his voice like an ice pick through the silence.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Dean. Flip him over, now.” he ordered, and with confused hands, Dean carefully turned over Sam’s slack body and laid him on his stomach. “Now give him a kiss.”  
  
John grabbed the back of Dean’s head, and pushed his face towards Sam’s backside, the eldest struggling against his father’s grip. _“Dad, stop!”_ he cried, and John backhanded him across the face.  
  
“You’ll do what I say, son.” he growled close to Dean’s ear, close enough that his hot breath was huffed onto his stinging cheek. “Or I’ll do it, myself.”  
  
“Okay.” Dean said quickly, “Okay… I’ll… I’ll do it.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Shivering hard at the thought, just looking at Sammy’s fucked-out hole, the mixture of blood and cum trickling from it, but he could easily set aside his petty qualms and do it. Dean leaned down, sniffling, and eased his mouth onto the tender, bruised ring of muscle. His tongue caressed the bloody hole, Dean not able to care about the taste, if it meant keeping their father from abusing Sam further, that night. He was careful and warmhearted with him, but also letting out a few moans, here and there, to make sure John thought he was enjoying it.

He was tonguing at the cleft of the boy’s cheeks, trying to be as tender as possible. In a minute, Dean was making out with Sam’s ass, licking up the salty cum mixed with the coppery taste of Sam’s blood, just shutting his eyes and trying to satisfy their father’s disgusting desires. Dean must have been at it for nearly seven minutes, Sam’s hole getting irritated and swollen from the intense contact, like Dean’s lips. Another moment, John finally knotted his fingers into Dean’s hair, and pulled his head back.  
  
“That’s enough. Go wash up, then to bed. I expect you up by seven, no later.” John said, sounding drunk and sated. Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach, as his dad finally-- Finally, left them, and he heard his thudding footfalls trailing down the hallway. Dean scrambled over to Sammy again, his tongue feeling huge in his mouth as he licked his lips.  
  
“Sammy. Sammy, I’m here.” he hushed, trying to shake him out of it, somehow. The paralytics would wear off, soon, but he needed to know that his baby boy was alright. “Sam… Sam, please-- _please,_ wake up.”  
  
Sam’s eyes stared off into nothingness, John’s cum long-since dried on his face and in his hair, leaving it a tacky white film over his pale skin. Dean grabbed some tissues from the nightstand, and started wiping it off. He gently cleaned Sam’s face of the disgraceful crap their father had gushed all over him. He was crying, as he watched those beautiful eyes glazed over and helpless, baby-soft mouth parted slack, while his milky-white, fifteen-year-old body shaken with a fine tremor, as the paralytics slowly wore away. The cum in his hair would always prove a fight to clean out. No matter how hard Dean tried, Sam would always get coated in it, from head to throat. John called it baptism.

**Author's Note:**

> i am so very sorry...


End file.
